


Not for a lack of interest

by Demonic_activity



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Human, Attempt at Humor, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Clubbing, Drunk Alec, Drunk Alec Lightwood, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonic_activity/pseuds/Demonic_activity
Summary: Alec is drunk.He is drunk and he is out, but notout. He speaks a little too freely, but he doesn't feelfree, but what if he met someone that could help with that?Let's just hope he doesn't embarrass himself beyond repair in the process...------Drunk Alec=basically one of my favorite Alecs? and also all there kind of is to the plot?





	Not for a lack of interest

He was drunk.

There was no doubt about it now.

It was that awful moment in between relative sobriety and absolute off-your-rocker-complete-blackout-drunk. That moment where you are actually – and painfully – _aware_ of the fact that you’re inebriated and no longer capable of pretending otherwise, but there is just nothing you can do about it. You can see other people looking at you, you can tell that _they_ can tell. But it’s hopeless, you are on a one-way ticket to plasteredness and there is no turning back.

It’s embarrassing that’s what it is.

But yeah, hopeless. The damage is done.

The music is thumping loud, assaulting his eardrums and thankfully drowning out any attempts at conversation. Alec has no idea where anyone is, and he had also given up on any acts resembling dancing a long time ago, so there’s that at least. He is stumbling back to the booth in the VIP section, in the hopes of hiding away there till the worst of it passes. Izzy apparently knows the owner or something (why is he not surprised?) and talked her way into getting the booth to herself and posse, a posse that Alec is unfortunate enough to be part of this evening. He just prays no one is there right now, because he really just needs to lie down for a second, maybe drink some water, make the world stop spinning... And pray to keep it all in and not toss his proverbial cookies all over the dance floor.

Apparently, the security guy at the VIP entrance is of a similar mind because he is eyeing Alec suspiciously. _Damnit Lightwood. Come on, you got this: coordination, cohesiveness and …. comedic timing? No that can’t be right…._

As he, while stumbling and slurring through his words, desperately tries to explain to an increasingly displeased looking bouncer that he really actually _was_ in there earlier, Alec suddenly notices someone leaning in the entrance to the curtained-off section. Someone all amused smirks and twinkling eyes and tall and good shoulders and… _Right. There went any chance for coherence_. He swallows and the stranger seems to keenly observe the motion.

“That’s alright Emmanuel.” The stranger’s voice is velvety smooth and sounds exactly the way he looks: perfectly elegant and confident, but with something like cheeky bemusement underneath it all.

And beautiful.

He isn’t aware of taking the few steps forward and entering the VIP area (thankfully avoiding any drunken stumbles) but before he knows it, the thick curtain falls back into place behind him and, as far as he can see, it’s just him and the stranger. As the deafening bass is suddenly dampened, it feels like he stepped into a different world altogether. In a surreal sensation, the disgusting mass of sweating, heaving bodies and inane electronic music instantly seems miles away. That should feel like a relief. And, sure, his eardrums are most likely beyond grateful, but it’s like a brick just got dumped on his stomach. He’s again so very aware that he is in no way able to carry conversation, not with gorgeous strangers and dear god save him, not with a gorgeous _man_. The word echoes frantically through his brain as though looking for any of his usual defenses ( _Repression. That’s what Izzy calls it_ ), but alcohol has given everyone the evening off and now it’s just him and his thoughts.

_Fantastic._

So naturally his next thought is something along the lines of _Fuck no, abort. Abort.abort.abort. AsAPPp._ But before this message can slowly make its way to his limbs, the stranger speaks again. “I’ve seen you out there tonight.”

And fuck if that doesn’t do strange, wonderful things to his body. Pleasure licking at his veins, kicking up his heartbeat.

The man’s eyes drag over his body once more, tantalizingly slow, “You’re here with Isabelle, am I right?”

Okay, nodding, sure yes, he can do that.

“Friend, boyfriend?” the man makes his way to a simply obscene red velvet sofa and gestures for Alec to join him. He probably shouldn’t be staring as much as he is, but he is only human and fuck him, this man… is not. He’s wearing something silky and shimmering, pants he appeared to have been sown into, fingers bedecked with jewelry, make-up, glitter, the whole deal. But that’s not it, exactly … it’s how he _moves_ in his fancy clothes, lithe and rhythmic, like he knows, he fucking _knows_ , Alec absolutely cannot keep his gaze off of him. It’s the way his eyes, glittery but dark in the low lighting, simply _burn_. It’s hypnotic.

_Ah crap._

“Uhm” he tries his best to pull the one word out of his empty fishbowl brain “… brother.”

Instead of carrying him out of here, out and away and home and safely in bed, his traitorous limbs sit him down on the sofa, maybe even a little closer than appropriate for two strangers who haven’t even exchanged names.

As if he read his mind (Alec really _really_ hopes he can’t) the man smiles a bedazzling smile that flips Alec’s stomach faster than a scruffy 3-bedroom in a gentrifying neighborhood, and says “Where are my manners”, looking like manners are absolutely the last thing on his mind, “I’m Magnus.”

“Magnus”, Alec repeats, unable to resist trying it out. And he has to bite his lip from repeating it over and over again like a secret chant, till it has lost all its meaning. Or maybe till everything else around him has lost meaning, and Magnus, _Magnus_ , is the only thing that makes any sense.

The other man’s gaze flicks down to where Alec is still biting down on his lower lip and the man’s eyes seem to darken even impossibly further.

Alec shivers, all of a sudden feeling feverish, overwhelmed by thoughts and yearnings he is always so careful to keep at bay. And now here they all are: crammed into the increasingly narrow space between their two bodies. This is fast becoming the best and worst night of his life.

He is altogether not sure he’s not dreaming this up.

“So do you have a name as well, pretty boy?” Alec possibly would’ve been mortified instead of just embarrassed if Magnus hadn’t sounded slightly breathless himself.

It’s not unthinkable the intoxication also helped.

But damn it all, he has simply no desire to bite back the grin threatening to overtake his face. “Alec”

“Is that short for Alexander?”

Magnus stretches it out like its something special and provocative, alienating Alec from his own name, but it sounds like someone he _wants_ to be. If only to hear him say it again.

“Well it’s definitely not short for ‘a lack of interest’”

_Oh jesus._

For a few seconds Magnus just blinks at him and Alec is cringing, trying to figure where in the seven hells that just came from. If he weren’t so terribly uncoordinated right now he would’ve smacked himself in the face. Possibly with a chair.

_And this, ladies and gentlemen, THIS, is he why doesn’t go out!_

But then Magnus bursts out into laughter, as in doubled-over-floored-absolutely- _dying_ with laughter. And yeah, maybe it should make him feel worse, but the sound somehow settles him, it relieves him from a feeling of discomfort he normally can’t shake when he is around other people. Not to mention it’s a bewitching sound, warm and wonderful and he can’t help but want _more_. So Alec just kind of sits there, grinning sheepishly? Because that is who he is?

It takes Magnus about half a minute to calm down all the way to the point where he is just giggling intermittently, and he has to wipe away a few stray tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Wow, that… I really needed that apparently.” He exhales dramatically and shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re hilarious, and adorable.”

Alec can feel his nose scrunching up, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called either.”

Magnus puts a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock, “Well that simply can’t be true!”

He gives it a moment of good thought. “No I’m pretty sure.”

“Okay, what about gloriously good-looking?”

“Oh come on, Magnus, seriously?” He demands, tone indignant as he waves vaguely over the length of the other man’s body and face as though presenting an argument. Again, his thoughts only seem to catch up with his mouth an eternity later and he can feel his face heating up. It’s baffling. He has no clue who the hell he is anymore.

Magnus just lifts a single eyebrow at him, a sly hint of a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth. And then he’s chuckling again, like he can’t help himself. “You’re perfect.”

“Well that’s a pretty crazy thing to say, you don’t even know me.”

But Magnus is just shaking his head like there’s something very obvious Alec is missing. And he can’t deny how it makes something flutter inside him, something restless and anxious. He realizes with a sudden shock the feeling is excitement. And it’s stupid but he can’t remember the last time he was truly excited about anything. He forgot how good it felt.

Manus smiles at him.

_So beautiful._

So he smiles back, because… because this night is one the weirdest he’s ever had and maybe because he doesn’t quite want to let go of this feeling yet.

Magnus’ eyes suddenly turn soft and his voice is low, intensifying the fluttering in Alec’s stomach, “Would you like to kiss me?”

The ‘ _Yeah duh’_ is on the tip of his tongue when Alec hesitates. It seems like the amount of almost sweet consideration that went into that question should be matched by a considerate response. He doesn’t even know if that makes sense or just sounds like it does inside his head, but he searches his entire mind, nonetheless: Everything that told him coming with Izzy tonight was a bad idea, that screamed _abort_ not half an hour earlier, that ducks his head and averts his gaze and that makes up rules and routines and punishments for straying…. and he comes up blank. He cannot remember having a better time – in a long time. He feels so far from any of his usual worries.

And it’s indescribable how freeing it feels to not have to weigh his words, to have to carefully avoid slip-ups and mistakes, but instead be able to speak with complete honesty.

“More than anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading friends :)  
> Hope you enjoyed it and happy weekend xoxo
> 
> You can come find me on ~~please follow me or ask me things on~~ [Tumblr](https://demonic-activity.tumblr.com/) (@demonic-activity), and I'd love to hear from you ~~I'm a lonely loner pls send halp, kthxby~~ !


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